


in which brad and meekus meet, and all's well that ends well

by forochel



Category: Generation Kill, Zoolander (2001)
Genre: Crack, Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-11
Updated: 2010-05-11
Packaged: 2017-11-02 23:07:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>slightly AU for Zoolander, since Meekus is still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in which brad and meekus meet, and all's well that ends well

"Oh my god, Brad, I swear to god, this guy stole your face and is committing identity rape or something," Ray says excitedly over the phone, "I am not even kidding or high or anything, you can ask Walt, there is just no way in hell, do you have a cousin or somethng?"

"What the fuck, Ray." Brad says flatly into the receiver. "Pass the phone to Walt."

"I can't. He's laughing too hard."

Nate raises his eyebrows at Brad, from where he's sprawled out over the other end of the couch, feet in Brad's lap and a stack of reports in his lap.

"NO IDEA," Brad mouths at him, but he obliges Ray and turns on the TV.

It takes some channel-surfing, because normally Nate and Brad absolutely do not watch the channels that Ray does, but when Brad finally hits the show in question, Nate falls off the couch laughing.

On their widescreen TV, several foppish young men are lounging around what looks like an apartment in Manhattan: they are all ridiculously good-looking and also ridiculously dumb, and one of them looks _extraordinarily_ like Brad. A younger version of Brad, with hair and a wide, innocent look in his eyes. He's also just made an extremely painful joke about hairgel and some other - model?

 _Model_?

Brad's almost-doppelganger is a fucking gayass yuppie _model_?

Brad feels extremely affronted.

This is an affront to his warrior spirit.

He also wonders if his birth mother had somehow managed to get knocked up _again_ and given away her baby _again_ to a bunch of crack-addled pot-smoking bubble-headed morons who live in fucking Manhattan to bring up as an airy fairy ass-backwards retard model.

Ray points out very fairly that this is a movie, though it doesn't remove the fact that the actor looks like Brad.

He's been put on speakerphone at this point, so Nate counters that it's a reality show featuring real life models.

Real life models _cannot_ be that retarded. Brad refuses to believe this. But then again, he'd also believed in many things until Iraq, so.

"FUCKING HELL, THESE GUYS ARE _FOR REAL_?" Ray shouts over the phone. Brad can imagine him all bug-eyed, then he mentally reprimands himself for even imagining Ray Person's whiskey tango sister-fucking trailer park cretinous visage.

"Yes, Person," Nate says with a smirk very poorly hidden in his voice, "I am afraid so."

There's a shout of laughter from the other end; they assume it's Walt being seized in greater paroxysms of laughter. They are proven right when Ray gasps into the phone, "Shit, I think Walt's laughing too hard, he's going to - bye Brad! Bye LT! I'll see you sometime!"

This sounds almost like a threat.

 

 

 

 

Because Nate has nothing better in his life to do, other than, you know, write policy reports and direct proposals that might change the lives of their brothers fighting halfway across the world, he arranges for Meekus to come meet Brad.

Because sometimes, you have to bring the mountain to Mohammad.

 

 

 

 

Not that Brad would ever pass for a wise and pioneering prophet of a new religious order that would a thousand or so years later, in roughly the lands of their genesis, mutate into some kind of crazy guerilla force bent on destroying all their enemies.

 

 

 

 

Ray and Walt get in on this, of course, because _they_ really don't have anything to do other than make Brad's life miserable, and their own hilarious by proxy. Ray and Walt have both gone to university, one to study electrical engineering and one to study marine biology.

Poke Espera laughs for about five minutes straight, before telling Nate, "You white boys are crazy motherfuckers, yo. I got a family to protect and I don't get insurance against the Iceman."

Reporter obligingly does some digging around, and it turns out that Meekus is not really Meekus; it's just a childhood nickname that stuck. His name is actually some crazy Nordic name with umlauts and a billion consonants like "Kättilvast" and he is part of this sprawling, Transatlantic family, of which Brad Colbert is apparently a scion.

 

 

 

 

"Brad," Nate asks carefully one night, "Have you ever thought about your other family?"

"No," Brad says firmly, "I don't."

"Oh," Nate says quietly, "Well."

Brad looks up from where he's tinkering with the innards of Nate's old computer and narrows his eyes, "That doesn't sound too promising."

"It's nothing, I was just wondering," Nate says easily, "We've just never really talked about it."

"No need to," Brad dismisses, "And don't want to."

"Noted," Nate says.

There is a note in his voice, though, that makes Brad look up at him again.

"Nate," he says, "I don't feel abandoned or unloved or unworthy or anything as weak-headed as that. And this is the only time I'm actually going to bare my heart to you like the communist tree-hugging bed-wetting dicksuck I am not, so. It's good. I have my family and I have you. And for better or worse, the fucking Marines."

Nate cracks a grin at that and says, "Yes, I imagine a friendship with Ray would negate any feelings of unworthiness."

"Smartass," Brad says fondly, and throws a screwdriver at Nate.

 

 

 

 

Nate is a _ninja master_.

Brad realises this when he comes home one day to discover his young doppelganger sitting uneasily at his kitchen table, chopping carrots and celery with a certain smoothness. His certainty with the knife, even as the skin about his eyes is tightened with nervousness, allows Brad to feel some kinship with him. Nevertheless.

"What the fuck," Brad says. "Ray, I know you're here somewhere."

And then Ray and Walt fall out of spice cupboard like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-fucking-Dum, giggling like the idiots they are. When they'd got together, Brad had been absolutely gobsmacked. Walt was such a nice boy! Ray ... was not. But apparently they are soulmates and have the same fucktarded senses of humour, which explains everything. From their relationship to their presence with his young, Nordic, model doppelganger in his kitchen.

"Okay," Brad says in his calmest tones, "Where's the LT? Because fuck me if he isn't the evil mastermind behind all this."

"Um," Doppelganger of Brad says, "I think Nate, like, went to the bathroom?"

Brad blinks at him very slowly, and reminds himself that as a civilian, Doppelganger technically ranks higher than Brad. He cannot make him drop 50, no matter how much his accent annoys Brad.

"That," Brad says, "Is very helpful. Thank you ... ?"

"Meekus," Meekus says chirpily, "Though my real name's Kättilvast. Everyone calls me Meekus, though."

"Cos he used to be meek, homes," Ray interjects, practically radiating glee, "See? Meek? Uh-s?"

"Yes, Ray," Brad sighs, and scrubs his hand through his hair, "I do see. What I don't see is why he's in my kitchen making ... vegetable dip. Or here at all."

"I thought it would be nice for you to meet." Nate says from where he's come into the kitchen, behind Brad.

"Nice," Brad parrots.

"Yes, Brad," Nate says pointedly, " _Nice_."

Somewhere on the other side of the kitchen, Ray whispers "Dude, this is better than the soaps" very loudly to Walt, who shushes him by slapping a hand over his mouth.

"Oh my god," Meekus says very suddenly, apparently completely ignorant of the tension in the room, "You look so much like me. Except more, like," and Brad watches in horror as Meekus flails his arms around in a very homosexual manner, "Like - like cousin Alvar."

"Cousin Alvar."

"Yeah, _totally_ ," Meekus enthuses, and happily waves the knife around _in a kitchen full of Recon Marines_ , "He's in the army and all! But in Sweden, not here."

"That makes sense," Brad says, sensing that this battle is not ever going to be his to win. Nate pats him on the back and propels him towards the kitchen table. Ray and Walt promptly plop down on chairs as well. Walt retrieves a carrot stick for himself.

"Right?" Meekus says and slides the carrot and celery sticks into a bowl, thankfully putting down the knife; Nate swoops down and removes it from the table. "He's really pissed, though, 'cos of the conscription ending this year but he's still got to stick it out. Mormor's happy, though - oh! And they're all really excited about you. Uh, I kinda told mum and then it kind of, like, got around ... Sorry?"

 

 

 

 

Meekus sticks around for a few more weeks in their guest bedroom; he is completely unfazed by Nate-and-Brad, even if his eyes glaze over when Nate starts expounding on foreign policy and Brad tries to make him use his brain. Brad is sure he has a brain. Somewhere.

"It's not like I'm stupid," Meekus says once, almost irritably, "I just don't feel like thinking, okay?"

"I know, homes," Ray says solemnly, because he and Walt are on summer break and so have the luxury of time to bug the everlasting shit out of Brad, "I get like that a lot."

"I know right!" Meekus says excitedly, "I mean, a friend of mine once asked if there was more to life than being really ridiculously good-looking!"

Walt smothers a snort against Ray's shoulder, while Brad tries not to just spontaneously expire on the spot.

"And then he went off and, like, I don't even know, saved the Malaysian Prime Minister and now he's got this school and this kid and that's like, really cool and all, but it's not, like, my thing, you know?"

"Totally," Ray says, because he's an evil little shit.

And then Meekus takes out a book titled _Ferns of Singapore_ and starts reading it.

"Dude, what the fuck," says Ray.

"I like plants," Meekus says.

"Yeah, me too," Ray says, "But not that kind."

"Oh, those are bad for the complexion. And the soul," Meekus tells Ray earnestly, "I'm not actually that dumb, you know."

Brad says drily, "No, that would be an affront to my bloodline."

"Dude, wouldn't that mean, like, you're my dad?" Meekus asks.

Nate laughs from where he's been typing furiously at his laptop. "Point, Meekus."

"Where'd you get that book anyway?" Walt asks, all sunshine-bright and innocent and sometimes Brad likes him again.

"A Brazillian gave me this book," Meekus says proudly.

There is a pause. Nate tentatively asks, "You do know that Singapore is not a city in Brazil, right?"

"Of course not!" Meekus says brightly, "It's in China!"

Nate actually facepalms while Brad groans and gets up from his chair, saying, "Excuse me, I'm off to cry blood now."

Because Brad's life sucks, everyone ignores him and Ray says wistfully, "Man, I remember that time we were on libo in Singapore ..."

"It was very clean," Walt says primly.

Ray continues, "It was like, on one street there were like Chinese chicks and Thai chicks and maybe-not-chicks, and then you turn a corner and there are all these Hajis and other Chinese dudes trying to sell you all this food, and then you turn another corner and it's the man-pussy again."

 

 

 

 

So that's how Brad ends up putting his long-lost cousin up in his home for a month, being invited to New York for a fashion show, and reconnecting with his sprawling, Trans-Atlantic birth family. And when he tells his mum, she just laughs at him. It figures.

 

 


End file.
